She Will Be Loved
by aevee
Summary: FleurHermione "She stood still, in the pouring rain, staring up at a window on the face of the tower, a window into the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory. She would wait. She would wait forever, if it was just to have a glimpse. A glimpse was enough."


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. 'She Will Be Loved' belongs to Maroon 5.

Everyday, flashing orbs of ice followed the slight sway of a petite form. Everyday, whiffs of lilac and mystery swelled and enveloped a certain Gryffindor. And everyday, that one mahogany-haired beauty went on unloved.

Did they forget her? Or did they just forget that she was a _her_? Similarities had brought the trio together, but it had also pushed them away. Ron and Harry had forgotten that Hermione was a girl. Everyone had, except for one person. Fleur Delacour had never forgotten, would never forget, _could_ never forget.

Icy blue. Platinum blonde. Mind-numbing beautiful. And unbelievably unavailable. Fleur Delacour was taken. Fleur Delacour _belonged_ to someone. And she wasn't even with them. Roger Davies fawned over her. Gentle words whispered to her in a rush of air against her delicate ear. The slight twitching of his lips as she swaggered over to him. The flash of fire in his eyes as she pushed him away in disgust, claiming that she could never be with him, and that he'd do well to leave him alone. The sudden fear and disgust as she mutated into the angry beast every Veela had the potential to be. The welcome silence around her when he'd left, the silence that was replaced by the lanky drawl of Bill Weasley.

Soft hazel. Exquisite mahogany. Shyly intoxicating. And unbelievably overlooked. Hermione Granger was unloved. Hermione Granger was forgotten. Hermione Granger was in love with the one person she hated most. Everyday, she would arrive in a rush of hurried breaths and a frenzied look in her eyes, to sit down in her usual seat in the classroom, to begin her usual ritual in class, to stare at the beautiful Fleur Delacour. Her eyes would flicker with love and hate in turns, and she would notice the confusion that would in turn flicker in Fleur's eyes, confusion at the mixed emotions. Hermione couldn't do anything except stare, stare dazedly at Fleur as the captivating Professeur Delacour paced back and forth, teaching the Defences to hopelessly distracted boys, teaching the Defences to hopelessly jealous girls, teaching the Defences, and the feeling of hope and helplessness, to Hermione. Teaching what it was like to love and be unloved to a certain mahogany-haired beauty.

She will be loved. Everyday, Fleur woke with a new determination, a new want, a new desire for the young Miss Granger. And everyday, it would be smothered in a matter of minutes as the sound of Bill Weasley's morning yawn and stretch reached her ears. With a sweep of cloud white silk, Fleur would prepare herself for a day of rigorous teaching, for a day of heartbreak as she watched Hermione Granger walking in the hallways, shoulders slumped dejectedly at being forgotten, as she watched as Hermione rush into her classroom and hurriedly take her seat to spend the class staring at her, filled with want and repulsiveness, as she watched as Hermione would walk out of her class again, shoulder slumped again, eyes filled with hurt and the need to be cared for. And Fleur's heart would thump with sympathy and desire, and a carefully hidden love for the girl who didn't think she would ever receive any.

I will be loved. Everyday, Hermione woke with a shining new hope that maybe someone would finally see her for who she really was, and shower her with tender feelings. A certain platinum haired enchantress came into mind immediately every morning. And everyday, that hope would be shattered in a matter of minutes as she swept back the curtains around her bed, and was promptly ignored. Hermione would slide off her bed, completely invisible, and prepare for another day of torture, as she walked the halls with Harry and Ron and listened to their exclamations of pleasure at seeing another good-looking girl, as she dragged herself to her classes, as she managed to finally reach the classroom that made her feel alive, as she finally let herself rest her eyes on the beautiful Professeur Delacour. Sometimes, Hermione would make up her mind to stay after class had ended, just to have a chance to talk to Fleur, but that fleeting idea would always dissipate as Hermione put more thought into it. Fleur would never care, Fleur would never want to talk to her, Fleur had someone else. So Hermione never noticed when she left the classroom, shoulders slumped, the icy blue orbs boring into the back of her slender frame.

Fleur had had enough. Too many days had passed. Too many weeks, too many months. Hermione had lived too many eons of torture, too many eons without love. Fleur would end it. She would do anything and everything to end it. But she couldn't, because Bill Weasley still existed in her life.

Hermione had had enough. She'd shed too many tears, wet too many pillows, broken too many things. She wanted it to end, she wanted someone to care, she wanted someone to see her. She wanted it today, she wanted it now. She wanted Fleur Delacour.

The rain, swept around wildly by the raging winds, drenched and soaked through her pale blue robes. The air around her seemed to solidify into ice, trapping her in a block of cold. But she didn't move. She stood still, in the pouring rain, staring up at a window on the face of the tower, a window into the Gryffindor girls' dormitory. She would wait. She would wait forever, if it was just to have a glimpse. A glimpse was enough.

A fantastically whimsical ball, a whirligig of frivolity, giggles and nervous coughs, and all in dedication to her. Fleur never understood just what there was to celebrate. The weak reason of her success as a Professor at Hogwarts for the first term only succeeded in confusing her. But there was one good thing in the tangle of bad. Hermione would be there. And there she was. Enveloped in a pale periwinkle cloud, Hermione strode in on no-one's arm. Fleur wished desperately that she could have been that absent arm, but it wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible. Fleur Delacour had Bill Weasley's arm to support her.

x x x

"Fleur?"

A soft drawl of a whisper blew itself into her sensitive ear.

"Oui, Bill?"

Her voice, a soft velvet purr slightly tinged with a provocative French accent, flowed into the ear of the vibrant young redhead.

"You're awfully quiet. You okay?"

"Of course I am okay. The Headmaster is talking now, oui? One should be quiet while another is talking. I am merely being respectful."

The curt edge in her voice was most pronounced, and for a moment, Fleur was afraid that she had angered Bill.

"But of course, I am still touched by your concern. Merci, mon chère."

Bill, mollified by Fleur's added words, sat back in his chair and took to staring out the masses of students. To be honest, he was feeling rather odd. It wasn't that long ago that he himself had been part of those masses of amused faces, listening to the eccentric Dumbledore talk. Now, he was sitting behind the long table at the front of the Great Hall. He turned his head slightly to his side and gazed into the perfect profile of his lover, Fleur Delacour. He was still amazed at the fact that he had Fleur Delacour, the prettiest of any girl, at his side. And she loved him. Bill smiled to himself, feeling completely content with life.

Fleur on the other hand, stared out with an intensity unmatched at the dull face of the one she really cared for. Hermione Granger stared up the Headmaster, appearing to listen as he spoke, but the detached look in her eyes told Fleur that she really wasn't there. Dumbledore sat down again, applause broke through, and Hermione snapped back into reality. To meet Fleur's gaze. Fleur immediately looked away, the faint beginnings of a pale blush flowing slowly into her cheeks. She quenched it, and instead, found herself looking into Bill's eyes.

"What is it?"

Bill grinned, his whisper low and rumbling.

"Nothing."

Fleur looked away from Bill but carefully avoided looking out at the mass of students. It took her a while, but Fleur's ears picked up the beginnings of a song, and the Headmaster's request.

"Professeur Delacour, if you please?"

She stood up, a graceful movement that awed the entire male student body. Dumbledore gestured towards the empty dance floor, and Fleur understood. She hesitated however. What would it be like? What would it be like to take Hermione into her arms, and whirl gracefully around that candlelit floor with her? Fleur never had the chance to find out. Bill gently slipped her arm into his, and guided her onto the dance floor. In a matter of moments, Bill was swinging her around gently, smiling.

"You look beautiful t'night Fleur."

"Merci, Bill. You are quite handsome yourself."

Bill chuckled softly.

"Why thank you. Sometimes I wonder if there's such thing as a male Veela. 'Cause if there is, I most certainly am one."

He laughed good-naturedly at his own joke, and failed to notice the strained smile on Fleur's face.

The dances flowed on, couples choosing the right songs for their feet to enjoy a bit of movement on the gleaming dance floor. Fleur had had enough of the dancing. She'd danced with Bill for more than enough songs, and had accepted, with a feeling of honour, the Headmaster's hand. She had laughed heartily has the enormous Hagrid had swung through a song with her, nearly trampling many a student. But after that, Fleur had decided that she'd had enough, and using the excuse that her feet were hurting, she turned down Bill's request for a dance and was currently sitting in her chair. The upbeat song helped lighten Fleur's darkened mood, and every student, as well as most of the teachers, were on the dance floor, merrily hopping to the beat. Only two people remained sitting. One would be Fleur, in her magnificent chair at the front of the Hall. The other would be Hermione Granger. Fleur stared at the solitary figure, sitting with her eyes focussed on all the dancing people, shoulders perpetually slumped. Fleur heart beat painfully. Hermione... Hermione was in so much pain. Before Fleur could do anything, Hermione got up and left in a whirl of periwinkle.

She never thought about it. Just got up from her chair and immediately followed Hermione out of the large oaken doors. The stone surroundings contrasted immensely with the decorations in the Grand Hall, but Fleur paid no attention. She held up her skirts and dashed after Hermione.

"Caput Draconis."

Fleur turned the corner in time to see the remainder of mahogany curls disappear behind a fast-closing painting. Whipping out her wand, Fleur waved it, and the painting froze. Another wave caused it to swing open again. Hermione, who hadn't noticed, was rushing up the stairs to the dormitories when she heard.

"Hermione!"

A soft velvet voice, tinged with an alluring French accent, called out to her, purring out the 'r' in her name. She turned around, unbelieving, only to gape in surprise.

"Fl- Professeur Delacour..."

Fleur was in the Gryffindor common room in mere seconds, and stopped several feet away from the trembling Hermione.

"Hermione..."

All the want, all the desire, all the sympathetic pain she had been feeling poured out into that one word. Hermione's trembling worsened. They stood facing each other, unmoving, afraid that if they did, the moment would shatter and disappear into nothingness.

"Professeur... What are you doing here? The ball..."

Hermione's whisper was hoarse with emotion.

"I don't care about the ball. I don't care about anything except-" Fleur's eyes flashed with a deeply hidden love, and she found herself striding towards Hermione, "-you."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to react. She didn't know anything except that Fleur was getting closer and closer with each passing moment.

"Professeur..."

And Fleur's lips pressed onto Hermione's. Fleur's warmth, her love, her desire and want, flowed from her soft lips and into Hermione. Fleur pulled back.

"Please. Call me Fleur."

Her whisper was hoarse with want. She wasn't the only one. Hermione's fingers found themselves running through Fleur's silk strands of blonde as they kissed. Moans elicited from Hermione's mouth as Fleur's hands ran up and down her back. They broke apart, gasped for air, and returned hungrily to each other's lips again.

And they sprang apart in shock.

"Fleur? What the hell's goin' on here?"

x x x

Fleur could only watch from a distance, watching as her love walked down the hallways of the musty old school. Sometimes, she would follow, staying a discreet distance away, only to run up to the petite figure when no-one was looking and share a moment of searing passion that came in the form of a kiss. But they would always break away, and after that, would act like nothing had happened. Except something had happened, and they found themselves longing for the other in every waking moment, and every unconscious moment. Every second that ticked by, Fleur could feel her body yearning for Hermione's. Every second that ticked by, Hermione could feel the need that coursed within her, the need for Fleur.

Fleur and Bill walked down the hallway, her hand clasped in his, fingers intertwined. Fleur desperately wished that the fingers that twined around hers were the delicate ones of Hermione, but the fact remained that they were the thick ones of Bill. There was a slight breeze that whispered past Fleur, bringing with it a sweet scent that only Fleur noticed.

Hermione breezed right past the pair.

Nobody noticed the brief touch that sparked between Fleur and Hermione.

She will be loved. And she was.

_Beauty queen of only eighteen_

_She had some trouble with herself_

_He was always there to help her_

_She always belonged to someone else_

_I drove for miles and miles_

_And wound up at your door_

_I've had you so many times but somehow_

_I want more_

_I don't mind spending everyday_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile_

_Ask her if she wants to stay awhile_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved_

_Tap on my window, knock on my door_

_I want to make you feel beautiful_

_I know I tend to get so insecure_

_It doesn't matter anymore_

_It's not always rainbows and butterflies_

_It's compromise that moves us along_

_My heart is full and my door's always open_

_You can come anytime you want_

_I don't mind spending everyday_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile_

_Ask her if she wants to stay awhile_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved _

_And she will be loved_

_I know where you hide_

_Alone in your car_

_Know all of the things that make you who you are_

_I know that goodbye means nothing at all_

_Comes back and begs me to catch her every time she falls_

_Tap on my window, knock on my door_

_I want to make you feel beautiful_

_I don't mind spending every day_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain, oh_

_Look for the girl with the broken smile_

_Ask her if she wants to stay awhile_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved_

_And she will be loved_

_Please don't try so hard to say goodbye_

_Please don't try so hard to say goodbye_

_I don't mind spending everyday_

_Out on your corner in the pouring rain_

_Please don't try so hard to say goodbye_


End file.
